middaeg | The Harsh Reality of Questing

[ Apparently, Caster found himself with quite high magical potential in this new world. Added bonus of familiarity with the runes and magic knowledge in the past means that he must be quite a studious individual using the gift to the best of it right?

—sadly, that's wrong.

Magic was always a useful skill to have, true, but it was never his true focus (or favourite subject). And while he does find the working of Geardagas magic intriguing, he does spend more time outside the Coven's lessons than on them. Recent few days were extremely bad on that, because of reasons, but hey, he's back on track.

If by back on track means skipping the theory lessons and going straight into one of the rooms for practical exercises. A warning against exploding things and levitating objects since be very sound since he has to duck right after opening the door, so a mug can fly past him. The accident gets laughed off and Caster just delves into a room to find an empty spot and—

Oh, how's that for a familiar face. ]

Yo, Lancer. [ Instead of picking a spot of his own, Caster leans over Diarmuid's shoulder to see what he's doing. ] Having fun with that?

[Truth be told, Diarmuid's not in the best of places either. Since that dream, he's been spending more time in at the Coven, soothed by its structure and easy atmosphere in the face of such unease. Of course, it's just as comforting to go home and feel like he has a purpose again in keeping watch of Waver when he's around.

... but only one of these two places stands a chance of improving his frankly embarrassing track record with magic. The other night, he melted a fork without even realising it after thinking about how he'd let his food get cold.

The bandage from that incident is still wrapped around his palm as, listlessly, Diarmuid flicks through one of the handful of books he's pulled out to study. Basic casting, runic languages, spoken magic... any other time he'd be making notes but his heart's just not in it today. He's about to give up entirely and move onto the next when a shadow falls over the page, followed by a lock of blue hair and a bright voice. One that sounded very different last he heard it.

It's utterly surreal- but he forces a smile and glances up at the other man anyway.]

Ah, C- [The name nearly slips out- but, thankfully, phonetics has his back this time around. In spite of his hesitation, his smile stays easy and unwavering.] Caster. It's been a while.

[Or has it?]

[ I feel this bro.jpg that Dreamy Berserker left a mark on more than one person. ~~And it's incredible~~ Caster is, for now, unaware of that fact, but he does notice the slight hesitation, the wound— Ain't the last on surreal on a Servant? Their healing jinxes, spirit forms and bodies made out of magical energy gone. Everything is off-kilter here.

He drags a chair nearby, and sits on it using its backrest, not as it's intended, but as a frontrest. Arms loosely crossed on it, chin propped ]

You look like you could use a break. [ Because Lancer is simply tired, right? ] I can provide a good distraction, you know?

[Tired. That about covers it, really, and Diarmuid makes no move to offer any other explanation. As for being a distraction? Well, he has no idea how much of a distraction he is right now, what with being the bright light that cast the shadow in his dreams.]

That's probably for the best. [With a little laugh, he sits back in his own chair and rubs a hand over his face.] Right now I'm just knowledgeable enough to be dangerous through ineptitude.

[He's trying not to let it show, he really is, but Caster's likely perceptive enough to notice that his gaze never stays in one place for long. Those eyes, those features, all the same but-]

Aren't we all. [ Caster lets out a soft chuckle. Beginners all of them again, but some never had any prior experience. It's different starting from round zero when magic was never truly your thing. ] Maybe I could help with that, share some advice my mentor gave me—

[ Forgetting the fact that Scáthach's training nearly killed him more than several times, the advice and lessons he got were solid. He wouldn't be who he is without her, and he still considers his time in the Land of Shadows as probably some of his best memories. Golden years.

Why couldn't she be the one visit him in a Dream? ]

But I think you should get some fresh air first. [ Caster touches Lancer's arm to tug him lightly, that sneaky "c'mon, let's skip a lecture for now" ]

I'm surprised so much of the city still stands.

[The suggestion they take some time out is music to his ears. Newly inducted witch or not, this is no place for a knight to be cooped up for so long. With a grin, Diarmuid allows himself to be coaxed out of the chair, suddenly awash with the memory of scrambling away with a small coterie of hunting dogs whenever Aenghus Óg tried to give him chores as a boy. Admittedly, the dog he's currently slipping away with has a smarter mouth than any he's known before but whatever.

Even so, he's quick to clarify-]

Ah- I'm usually a more diligent student, I promise.

[- just in case. Now that he knows- or at least, thinks he knows- Caster's True Name, he'd be mortified if he thought poorly of him; it wouldn't do to appear lazy or amateurish in front of Ireland's Child of Light.]

Being a bad influence, it's all on me. [ Caster laughs at that assurance. Of course, Lancer is, he wouldn't be holed in this room if he wasn't. But said Child of Light also has a history of stealing mommy's chariot in a temper tantrum and being a gifted student slash problem child of certain Scottish Witch. He's a jock to your nerd Diarmuid, he will never think less of you for escaping the lessons...

At least they're not really being graded, right?

There is a substantial walk to get outside the building, with all the corridors and stairs and what-not. Just enough time for Caster to find a packed sandwich in his satchel and hand it to Lancer. (no, he didn't make it himself) ] ]

Grab a bite, and tell me what's been eating you. [ s t o p ]

[Somehow, he can't picture Caster getting up early and carefully preparing a lunch for himself, which means that someone else did it for him. Presumably, whoever he's living with. Diarmuid gives him a curious look- only for it to be immediately eclipsed by a wince at that terrible pun.]

You'll ruin my appetite before I even start like that, Caster. [He shakes his head fondly and takes the sandwich.] Thank you.

[Only when they've escaped the confines of the Coven, though, does he fulfill the second half of that request. The late spring weather gives only the faintest glimpses of the season to come, flashes of the sun behind clouds and a few specks of rain that have the taste of a long, warm summer but nothing more. But Diarmuid's more than happy to be outside; he's always been more comfortable outdoors than in and, though he's trying to be the model pupil, he wouldn't be a knight if his calling was in book learning.

If nothing else, the light breeze revives him enough for him to turn to Caster with a tired smile.]

... bad- no, just strange dreams. That's all.

[With that, he takes a large bite of the sandwich.]

[ Puns are not Caster's forte, but if stupid ones can bring a laugh, he will go for it. Spending time in Lancer's company is fun, and he is genuinely concerned about his companion's bad day. There is a bit of selfishness in here too, as doing something to brighten Lancer's his day, will brighten his own—

At least until they settle in a comfortable place (the good combination of catching sun rays and being partially in the shadow to not get blinded by the high sun) and Lancer mentions dreams. Caster's mood immediately drops, it goes into a bit somber one and his inquiring tone might suggest he is familiar with such topic. ]

If you don't mind me asking— what kind of dreams? [ A beat ] I can't say my sleep has been peaceful lately.

[ But that's not the case with everyone. He thought that perhaps others suffered the strange affliction as well, but Lancer is the first to mention that ]

[There's no missing the dip in the mood. Diarmuid swallows his mouthful of sandwich and casts a searching look in Caster's direction, brow furrowing just a little. By all rights, there's nothing necessarily unusual about both of them suffering from bad dreams; they've been literally unsettled and dropped into a world with entirely new rules and threats and concepts. It's only natural that the adjustment period is rocky.

And yet, as he watches the other man, all he can see is his dark twin. Is it coincidence or something more?]

... they seemed so real. [He can still feel the chill of the runes against his fingertips, claws against his skin, piercing eyes-] I... thought I saw you. Or maybe it wasn't you. I don't know, he was so different...

[With a deep sigh, he presses a hand to his temple. It sounds so ridiculous when he says it out loud but...]

[ Well. That's a sure way to lose the appetite. Maybe it is a coincidence, but it-- does feel too much like a coincidence. People he met in the strange fairy dream ended being the ones that he spotted here. It took a while to piece it together, and at least two people spelling it aloud, but he is not the only one with this experience.

He'd be quick to relegate his experience with Berserker as just... very nasty dream and working of subconsciousness, like the dreams used to work back when you were alive. But if there is a chance—

If there is a chance this is a strange shared dream again, he'd rather now ]

Let me guess, red barbed spear, red marking under the eyes... [ That works right? Those are the most obvious physical differences - height and other stuff can vary in a dream anyway. There is a chance he is giving away his identity with the "spear" comment, but a lot of Servants are familiar with each other here anyway.

There is no Grail War, secrecy is not all that important. ]

[This time, his discomfort is more pronounced. As Caster describes the Servant from his dreams, Diarmuid's eyes widen, his shoulders stiffening when it becomes obvious that they're talking about the same man. Every inch of him feels tense but isn't fear of Cú Chulainn the Berserker with apathetic eyes that has him on edge, it's the memory of his words. The marksman-like shots he took and the lack of emotion in his voice, the chill it sent through him. It's pathetic, really, to be so affected by a mere vision but it struck a nerve that has yet to settle.

And now he's faced with the revelation that the situation bears more than a passing resemblance to how they came to be here.

Diarmuid licks his lips.]

That's right. I think he had been changed by the magic here but he was a Servant. He said he knew me and-

[Finding out what might actually be Caster's true name like this makes him feel underhanded but it can't be helped. He lowers the hand at his brow to meet the other man's eyes.]

And he told me his name.

[ Oh, that makes sense. Caster didn't help much, if at all, during dealings with that Singularity so he's not very knowledgeable which Servants were on the enemy side (aside from the fact they were all Celts). Sitting that one out was both a courtesy (kindness, really) from his Master and pragmatic choice of his own.

Celtic army and Queen Medb being involved, meant among many names that Fergus was probably there— and Caster had that geis regarding yielding to him. Of course, his uncle had a similar one: to yield to him right back on their next meeting, but one of the conditions was him being a wielder of Gae Bolg. And as a Caster, it is not his weapon, meaning Fergus would not be obligated to keep his side of that promise. So that was the pragmatic side.

Medb never considered their business finished, while he was content in simply not having to see her face ever again. So sparing him that was the kindness.

Everything points that Lancer did met Berserker, everything just fits. Caster can't help but feel camaraderie in this discomfort he shows because he knows all too well how painfully accurate his Alter's points can be. ]

No other way to do it then [ He clicks his tongue and puts hand on his hip as he leans closer to Lancer. That's so he can lower his voice, they're still in public, though most people don't care anyway. Introductions are important, right? And he'd rather do it himself, rather than ask what kind of name has Lancer heard in a dream ] I am Cú Chulainn, son of Deichtine, Shield of Ulster.

[ Last of Cullan's hounds, Child of Light and probably few other colorful names could be found. He chooses to introduce himself from mother's side rather than fathers not out of modesty, but because... well, Lugh, wasn't really that much of presence in his life ]

I am familiar with the man you've met. [ That sounds kind of bitter ] His form has been twisted by a cruel and selfish wish.

[Can a name alone bring someone out in shivers? Apparently so. From Berserker, it had seemed has cold and lifeless as the man who possessed it, a fading sun just waiting to go out, but it gleams on Caster's lips. Celestial bodies really do seem to be the motif of the hour because Diarmuid finds himself temporarily starstruck. So, it's true: all this time, he's been talking to the Hound of Ulster himself, albeit a version of him in an unfamiliar form. Gone is the chariot and spear but his spirit shines through.

He hasn't said anything yet, has he? Resisting the urge to kneel or bow in respect- Caster doesn't seem the sort to care for that kind of display- he simply treats him to a warm, dazzling smile. The shadow of their shared dreams has been temporarily forgotten in the face of his admission, and it shows even in his body language.]

Forgive me for not telling you sooner. [He laughs, a little embarrassed.] But it truly is an honour to meet you properly- and I would be remiss not to share the same with you.

[It's a matter of principle, after all. To be trusted with a Servant's True Name is a privilege and one he intends to treat with the utmost respect.]

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. [He presses a fist to his chest, strong and proud.] Knight of the Fianna and spearman of Fionn mac Cumhaill.

[In spite of how they parted, it's a title he holds close to his heart, cushioned by memories of better times.]

Edited 2019-06-03 15:06 (UTC)

[ They're separated by centuries but the Throne and Grail shenanigans provide with enough background knowledge so the heroes can identify each other even if their eras are far apart. And when it comes to being born on the same land, on the same island—

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne himself

—where were his eyes, how did he not see it sooner? If they got a chance to fight they would probably have recognized each other earlier. Caster's expression goes through few stages, one of genuine surprise, going for a second or of wistfulness to a bright and burning joy. Diarmuid is right, bows and kneeling are too formal for Cú. He was a knight too, but the idea of knighthood that has been developed later was not yet present in his times.

Instead, he throws his arm around Diarmuid's shoulder, - because what is personal space? - and positively beams ]

Truly the honor is mine! To meet a famed warrior as skilled and as beautiful as you? That makes coming to this place worth it!

[ With Grail War mechanics they couldn't really meet in their top conditions anyway, hogging the same Lancer spot ]

We should find a moment to celebrate this meeting properly when the time is right.

[ They're already skipping practice, and running off to town right now wouldn't be the best idea. Not to mention the shadow of dream looming above them. ]

The Harsh Reality of Questing - catch'all

for Diarmuid - Coven, May 19+

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